Memoirs of Before and After
by SpectrumsofWriting
Summary: A memoir of the 3 years before and the single-life changing moment after. {Post-Reichenbach}


_Tick, Tock._

14 days, 336 hours, 20,160 minutes and 1,209,600 seconds, that's how long it's been since your fall. It does not matter how many seconds or minutes pass by; it still feels as if one moment ago you were bleeding against the pavement and despite how desperately I checked for a pulse there was none.

_Tick, Tock._

I can still hear your voice in my head echoing repeatedly, your final words.

_"Goodbye, John."_

_Tick, Tock._

It's quiet; all I can here is the sound of that clock ticking away. 3:42 a.m., I need to sleep, but there is nothing to gain from it. How long has it been since I've had to deal with this? It never truly left, the dreams of war, but when you were here it occurred less often. Now it's been replaced with something equally terrifying. So, I lay here while staring into darkness and listening to the sound of the clock ticking.

On occasion, I do drift off to sleep. It's almost unnoticeable if not for the sudden gaps in time. 5 minutes maybe 10 never much longer than that, any longer and nightmares slip in.

3:55am.

In a few more hours it'll be time to get ready for work, only a few more hours…

Even without a mirror I know there are faint dark circles around my eyes and the expressions of passersby tell me I look as bad as I feel. In a way I am doing the very thing I scolded you for, trying to go through the day or week with little to no sleep. The difference being for you it was a choice, but then again, maybe it wasn't. The way you managed to function without breaking down or causing anyone to worry is the part I have yet to master.

When I walk through the doors there is a brief moment where people stare before going back to what they were doing or drifting away as I walk by.

"Good morning, Dr. Watson."

I'm not sure who said it, but I don't reply instead opting for a barely visible head nod, a sign of acknowledgement, before walking into my office and closing the door.

There is a knock. I already who know it is so I don't respond.

"John, can I come in?"

It's Sarah. Would she have listened if I said no?

"Yeah, come on in."

Sarah sticks her head in before fully opening the door and walking inside. At one point I liked her or maybe I thought I did; the lines have blurred by this point. She's pretty, smart, kind enough, and interesting to be around; you two seemed to get along well enough when you met. Isn't that enough?

It's clear what she will say she before she even says it or at least I have general idea. They all say something similar.

"You didn't have come into work today, John. It's really not a problem."

There it is. She's been hinting at it ever since your death was in the paper. It's not as if I'm falling behind anymore or working too hard, I don't see what the problem is.

"I don't mind, I was falling behind."

When you were alive things were different. I would leave early, stay late, or fall asleep at the desk, all so that I could help with cases. Which, in a way, was working. Back then, I struggled to meet the requirements asked of me and now the work's being finished with ease. Why would she wish to change that?

"John…"

"Sara."

Stern, unwavering, must hold my ground.

"I'm fine."

"But-"

"Doing well."

"You-"

"Really, okay."

I can go on forever; she will crack before I do.

"Well...okay, continue on then."

It was a nice effort and knowing her, she'll be back.

"And John-"

"Yes?"

"I really am...sorry for your loss."

A nod and then back work, she closes the door behind her. _"Why do people apologize for things they have not done or are in anyway responsible for?"_ I didn't have the answer to your question then and I don't have an answer now.

Eight hours later I'm back home, though the feeling of home is long gone. Nothing has changed, but it never does. It's still as messy as you left it. Papers scattered everywhere, books stacked in multiple plies, newspapers clippings on the wall, and somehow it was a mess to everyone but you. For you this was a visualization of how your mind worked and in that sense, it's beautiful.

Mrs. Hudson keeps suggesting to start cleaning up, even offers to help, but I always decline. The truth is that cleaning means erasing. If your stuff goes then you go with it and I'm not ready for that, not yet.

There is now the matter of dinner. It's been days since I have been food shopping, but I always manage to pull something together. The fridge has been re-filled, the works of Mrs. Hudson no doubt. The calendar has a circle around the date; guess you were supposed to eat today. It is amazing how organized you were; even with your poorer habits. At least that's one battle I will not have to fight today. Watching you push the food around the plate like a child until banter is exchanged, but in the end, you ate it. It was tiring and never something to looked forward to but I would rather have you here "driving me crazy" than not here at all.

A sandwich is hardly a good dinner but it'll do. A light dinner and watching whatever is on the telly this evening; I've seen this scenario before. For the past two weeks it's been this dull never ending cycle: Waking up, going to work, eating dinner, miscellaneous activities, sleeping, nightmares, waking up. It seems like you was the most interesting part of my life and without you I'm back to the humdrum life I had before.

It's 11pm, time to continue on with the cycle again. There is only so much I can take while I'm awake.

It has been 14 days, 356 hours, 21,360 minutes, and 1,281,600 seconds since your fall and I'm sure how much longer I can go on like this.


End file.
